A Skeleton in My Closet
by FlashFiction
Summary: A collection of snapshots of the life of Amelia Bones. Written for the Minor Character Boot Camp Challenge at the HPFC Forum
1. Afraid

**Author's Note: **This was written for the Minor Characters Bootcamp Challenge at the Harry Potter Fanfiction Challenge Forum. As the title suggests, you have to write about a minor character and since I'm an Amelia Bones addict, always looking for an excuse to write about her, I decided to show some snapshots of her life.

The prompt was "Afraid".

It was dark outside; at that time of night, however, it was to be expected. The clouds that interlocked across the sky were a deep, stoney grey, and their shadows lay over the city of London, cloaking it like a great stain on the surface of Britain. Though she was many, many metres under the ground, in her office at the Ministry of Magic, Amelia Bones knew that it was dark outside. She glanced at the clock and gave a sigh, then threw another paper clip into a small silver bowl on her desk. That was what she had been doing for the last few hours; she didn't actually use paper clips (who did?), but they were always good when she found herself at a loss for what to do. Right now she was at a bit of loss. She had been wondering, in between shots, when she should leave work and head home. It was late; she wasn't being paid to be here and yet she couldn't leave her seat. Watching as a black clip hit the rim and bounced off, Amelia decided it was time to go. She was a fully grown woman playing paper clip basketball at eleven at night. And she wasn't even sure what basketball was!

Standing up, Amelia tucked a strand of greying blonde hair behind her ear. Her black robes fell around her ankles as she made her way over to the hat stand where she had hung her satchel. She took the bag and slung it over her shoulder. Then she bent down to pick up a few rogue paper clips.

"Ma'am, you're still here," a deep, warm voice said.

Amelia started and stumbled over, falling back against the side of her desk. She raised her head to see Kingsley Shacklebolt, one of the top Aurors, trying not to laugh. His mouth was curved slightly and his eyes sparkled. Amelia shook her head, smiling.

"What the hell are you trying to do, Shacklebolt?" she said, letting her head rest against the wood, her grey eyes looking up at him.

"I just noticed the lights were still on in here," Kingsley said.

He stood, his hands in his pockets, just staring at his boss. Then he offered to help her up. Amelia shook her head again and pushed herself up using the side of the desk.

"It isn't easy to knock me down," the witch said, "And believe me, Shacklebolt, greater men than you have tried."

"I can believe that," Kingsley smiled.

Amelia raised an eyebrow and leant against the desk. Her hands supported her, but she felt her weight against her wrists. Perhaps the feeling in her brain was reflected in her eyes, because Kingsley sat down in one of the chairs that was usually offered to guests. He folded his hands in his lap and didn't appear to be moving anywhere.

"Why are you still here?" he asked.

"No rest for the wicked," Amelia said with a weak attempt at joviality, "Though whether I'm talking about myself or the people we deal with, I couldn't say at the present moment."

Kingsley didn't laugh. He just looked serious, something that didn't endear itself to Amelia. On the occasions when they interacted, there had never been anything really serious said between them, nothing personal anyway. If she had been asked to choose someone who would sit and listen, it would probably not have been Shacklebolt, based on their relationship. Though, looking in his eyes, she had no doubts he could listen.

"Someone has to stay late," Amelia sighed, "There's work to do. Especially now."

"And I'm sure catapulting stationary across the room will contribute greatly to the security of our nation's people," Kingsley said flatly.

"You saw that?" Amelia said, biting her lip a little, looking sheepish.

"I'm an Auror," Kingsley replied, "I get paid to see things."

Amelia folded her arms and tipped her head backwards, exhaling quickly.

"You're too damn good at your job," she said.

Kingsley smirked.

"So were you," he said, "so I'm told."

Amelia pursed her lips and cocked her head sideways.

"Now you're trying to get me to talk about my past," she mused, "Shall I lie down on a couch whilst you fetch the clipboard?"

"You are one of the greatest people to leave the Auror Office," Kingsley said, "Your past, as you call it, is hardly a secret."

"Then why you asking?" Amelia whispered.

"Switching focus," said Kingsley, standing up and ambling slowly towards her, "Now who's using psychology?"

"It's a classic bureaucratic technique," she said in mock defense.

"Bureaucratic?" Kingsley said with a laugh, "It appears you're good at this job too."

"Hey," Amelia grinned, "you might be going places, subordinate, but one word from me and you'll never see the sunny side of your current employment. Hush up."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Watch me, Cowboy."

Kingsley laughed, as Amelia let her bag fall to the ground and stretched her arms up, rotating her stiffened wrists. Then she yawned and let her hands fall to her side. The wizard looked at her, a concerned look on his face.

"You should go home," he said softly.

Amelia opened her mouth, as if to complain, and then shut it again, nodding. She knew she should go home. It was late and she had to sleep, the work load she would be facing in the morning a daunting task even to someone who had spent the whole night in blissful rest. But sleep had been difficult lately, ever since he had returned. The greatest dark wizard of all time had kept her awake on many occasions; after the first war she had slept with her wand for several years afterwards. After his return this time, she had spent the first few nights walking about in a state of numbness, not feeling or registering anything. When the gravity of the situation had set in, Amelia had cried for such a long time. She had lost so many during his first reign; there was not much left to lose.

In the end, she said, in a hoarse whisper, "it's so dark outside."

Kingsley sat down on the desk next to her.

"I didn't know you were afraid of the dark," he said quietly.

"Oh no," Amelia shook her head, "I'm not afraid of the dark. Darkness is merely the absence of light, nothing more."

"Then what?" asked Kingsley curiously.

Amelia sighed and crossed her arms more tightly across her chest.

"Tell me," she said, "when a person says they are afraid of heights, what is it that truly scares them?"

Kingsley thought for a moment and then said, "falling."

Amelia nodded.

"Exactly. I am not afraid of the dark; it is what might happen whilst I am in it that frightens me."

She didn't have to leave the building to go home; her position as head of department meant that she was connected to the Floo Network, so she could be transported straight from the atrium. But once she was home, she would be surrounded by the night, all alone in the darkness with no way of knowing what was out there. All alone. Amelia sighed, something she felt she was doing way too often.

"I don't want to be alone tonight," she whispered.

"Neither do I," Kingsley replied, moving a little closer to her.

Amelia, realizing what her remark could've suggested, almost started to laugh. She looked up at his face, so eager, so caring, so tempting. He was gorgeous, that was a fact. But it was a terrible idea. She reached up a hand and placed it on his cheek, the warmth of his skin seeping onto her palm. He raised his own and cupped it around hers, holding it there.

"Oh, Sweetheart," Amelia said wistfully, "If I was ten or twenty years younger..."

She trailed off.

"What?" Kingsley breathed.

Trying to ignore everything her animal instinct was telling her, Amelia pulled her hand away.

"I won't tempt fate by giving that an answer," she said softly.

She picked up her satchel and once more hung it over her shoulder. Giving him a small smile, one that she couldn't keep the regret from, Amelia left Kingsley, his dark eyes following her as she went. It was only when she had moved completely from his sight and was stepping onto the lifts, that it occurred to her perhaps he was afraid of what was in the dark too.


	2. Pressure

**Author's Note: **The prompt was "Pressure".

The classroom emptied, a stream of students dressed in black heading out for lunch. One desk, in the middle of a cluster, was still occupied as the clattering sound of feet on stone died down. Amelia Bones desperately scribbled on her parchment, her knuckles white as she gripped her quill. She had finished her Transfiguration essay last night but, after reading some of her friends', she wasn't prepared to hand it in like this. Not noticing all her classmates leaving, she added notes in the margin and foot notes at the end, thinking of anything that might improve her mark. It wasn't an important grade, but still, she was Amelia Bones; she couldn't be struggling.

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you for your essay, Miss Bones," the scottish lilt of Professor McGonagall said from behind her.

Amelia spun around in her chair, her grey eyes pleading with the blue ones of her teacher.

"Please, Professor," she said, "I know I could make it so much better."

The blue eyes were unyielding.

"I'm sorry," McGonagall said, "but it would be unfair on your fellow students, if I gave you extra time."

Amelia's shoulders sagged and McGonagall's expression softened a little.

"If there are improvements to be made, I will suggest them," she said, "You needn't be worrying; exams are still months away."

Amelia nodded, but felt sure she was going to need more than months to improve her current Transfiguration performance. From the very first lesson of the year, Amelia had been finding the subject hard. N.E.W.T level was a big jump from what she done last year and she needed good grades; the Auror Office only accepted the best for training. She had to be the best. Normally, she was one of the top people in her class. She didn't have difficulty, which made it evener harder to cope with now. She had to win, to come first; people were expecting it of her. She was expecting it of herself.

"Can I help you with anything, Miss Bones?" the professor asked quietly.

The words were innocent enough, but her tone was knowing, as if she could see the inner struggles of her student. Amelia, who had been packing up her things, let her stack of books slam against the table.

"Unless there's a spell to transfigure the entire syllabus into my brain," she sighed, "I don't think there's anything to be done."

McGonagall pulled a chair over to the girl and sat down. Even seated, she was quite a bit taller, though their age gap was not massive, only about a decade and a half or so. She took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes, then replaced the spectacles on her nose.

"You're finding this year challenging," the older witch said, "I can see that."

"I'm not sure if you do," Amelia said, in a cold manner that normally she wouldn't have dared to use with the formidable Transfiguration mistress.

McGonagall looked at her, not angrily, simply as a scientist might examine an interesting specimen.

"It may surprise you," McGonagall said dryly, though not unpleasantly "but I have learnt a few things about students during my time as a teacher."

"And, believe it or not, I was once a student myself," she added.

It wasn't that easy to believe, at least not for Amelia. She couldn't see the strict, straight-laced McGonagall sitting in the back row, giggling with her friends, stressing over assignments. The woman always seemed like, well, a woman; but of course she must've been a child a some point. It just hadn't occurred to Amelia before.

"You want to be an Auror," McGonagall said, her voice holding a hint of approval, "that's commendable and I've no doubt you can do it. You're bright, although right now you're under a lot of pressure. But pressure can make diamonds."

"And if you put enough pressure on said diamond," Amelia said, "it will shatter into a million pieces."

"There is a fine line, I admit," McGonagall said with a quiet laugh.

She sighed when the girl didn't share her smile.

"I understand it better than you think," the witch said, almost bitterly, "I know what it's like to be 'that smart kid'. Everyone says how lucky we are, how easy it must be. But all the time we're waiting for something to break. We get to the top and it's no big deal, because that's where we are expected to be. But if we make one mistake, one, _human_ mistake, they will hold it against us, like we did something wrong."

There was a definite bitterness in her voice as she finished that speech. It was a display of emotion that Amelia was not accustomed to, not from this person. And the message, if she was honest, didn't sound particularly reassuring.

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" Amelia asked.

McGonagall gave a non-committal shrug.

"It's the truth," she said, "I could tell you mass upon mass of pretty lies, but I don't believe that would make you feel any better either."

Amelia nodded and hung her head. Her teacher, spun her chair around, so that it was directly facing her.

"Listen, Amelia Bones," McGonagall said, "You are not going to be good at everything. You are going to struggle, you are going to make mistakes. But that's okay. You are allowed to not always get it right, no matter what people say or what you tell yourself. It is not weakness to have weaknesses; over coming them is what will make you strong."

For the first time, Amelia smiled. She appreciated the effort that had gone into it.

"Does that help?" McGonagall said rather nervously.

Amelia nodded.

"Yes, I think so."

"Good," the professor said with a sigh of relief, "because I've got a budget for inspirational speeches and I think I just used it up."

"I'm sorry," Amelia laughed.

"It's alright," McGonagall smiled, "What are teachers here for, if not to instill self-belief in their students?"

Amelia grinned and then picked up her books. She rose and started to head for the door.

"Thank you, Professor," she said before she left, "you're a lot cooler than you first seem."

"I'm not sure how to take that," McGonagall said with good humour, "but thank you, Miss Bones."

Amelia nodded one last goodbye and then headed off to join her friends for lunch. Sitting at her seat in the Great Hall, she watched the Transfiguration teacher take her own seat among her own friends and for the first time wondered what kind of pressure the woman was under. She certainly seemed to understand. But, thinking back on her words, Amelia could only conclude that whatever pressure it was, it was making diamonds.


	3. Forbidden

**Author's Note: **The prompt was "Forbidden".

If someone had asked Amelia Bones where she was going to be at 3am on that particular morning, she would not have said sneaking into her brother's house quietly through the back door. Her coat was hanging over her arm and her six inch heels were in her hands, as she gently pushed on the wood, willing it to open without a noise. She had been having drinks with a friend, an old friend, one she hadn't seen in a long time. They had been having such intense conversation, that hours had flown by without Amelia noticing. Now she was being forced to creep back inside like a burglar, something she hadn't had to do since her teens.

The only reason she had to do it was because of her brother, Laurence. She was staying with him, his wife, Rebecca, and their daughter, Susan. It was Susan's summer holidays and Amelia had been given some time off, so Laurence suggested she come and stay with them. It was at this point he had decided that the next two weeks were going to be, what he had labelled, "family bonding time". They went on walks, played games, had meals together. By the end of the first week, Amelia had decided that the real reason Purebloods hated Muggles was because they had invented the game of Scrabble, an activity Amelia had been exposed to every evening (one she wasn't particularly fond of). But the overlying rule of the family holiday, was that Laurence had forbidden them from doing any individual activities. He said that they didn't spend enough time together as it was, so they were going to make up for it now. After a while, this rule had grown rather tiresome, for all involved; but Laurence was determined to see it through. Amelia theorized that he was only being so strict because he was in a bad mood, something that stemmed from a ban his wife had placed on junk food, due to his high cholesterol. What ever the reason, if Amelia was caught like this there would be consequences; Laurence had been threatening to bust out the Monopoly for days now and this was exactly the kind of push he needed.

Amelia closed the door and tiptoed along the small corridor that led to the kitchen. Up ahead a tap was dripping, but otherwise it was silent. The tiles were cool underneath Amelia's bare feet as she walked along, each step carefully planned. She almost swore as she knocked her heels against the wall, a small bang echoing through the stillness.

"Good evening," a voice said quietly.

Amelia spun around in a panic, her heart beating. Standing by the sink, holding a cup of water and wearing her pajamas, was her niece, Susan. Her long, red hair was tied back in a plait and her eyes, the same grey colour as Amelia's, glistened. She wore a smile on her face as she looked at her aunt.

"Or should I say morning?" the girl added.

Amelia groaned. This was not going well.

"If you mention this at all to your father," she whispered, "I will disinherit you."

"Fine," Susan grinned, "but you'll have to inherit me first."

"Done," Amelia said.

She went over to the cupboard and took a cup from the shelf. Holding it under the tap, she filled it with water and joined Susan in a drink.

"Cheers," she whispered, clinking her glass against her niece's.

It was then she noticed something on Susan's hand. Placing the glass down on the bench, she reached forward. The girl tried to pulled away but years of training had left Amelia with excellent reflexes. Drawn in black ink, just below the girl's thumb, was a little star. Amelia's eyes lit up.

"You've got a tattoo!" she said with an almost gleeful ring to her voice.

Susan blushed and pulled her hand away.

"You're only fifteen!" Amelia exclaimed, getting a little more sense in her, "God, what did your mother say?"

Susan reddened further.

"Oh," Amelia said with dawning understanding, "That explains the industrial sized bottle of concealer you wanted for your birthday."

Though she hated to admit it, Amelia now held a large amount of leverage over her niece. The chances of her ever being able to leave the house again if her mother found out about this were very, very slim.

"When did you get it?" Amelia asked.

"A few months back," Susan muttered, "Hannah knew a guy in Knockturn Alley. We all got one."

"Knockturn Alley?" Amelia sighed, "Well that makes the whole situation a lot better."

"Please, you can't tell her," Susan begged, "Or I'll tell Dad you snuck out to go on a date."

Amelia pursed her lips.

"It wasn't a date," she said defensively, "it was a thing."

"A thing?" Susan said skeptically.

"Yes," Amelia nodded, "he's just a friend."

"A friend?" Susan said, "What's he like?"

"He's Irish," Amelia replied with a smile, "And beautiful."

"And a friend," Susan reminded her.

"Yes," Amelia said coldly.

But Susan was shaking her head, grinning.

"Lies, blatant lies," she said, indicating the navy blue, beaded dress that Amelia was wearing, "You're clearly making an effort. It was a date."

"Wasn't," Amelia hissed.

"Totally was!" Susan hissed back.

"Shh!" Amelia exclaimed, "Do you want your parents to come down here? You with a tattoo and me with a, a thing?"

It was at that moment that there suddenly happened to be footsteps coming down the staircase; both witches swore.

"It's okay," Amelia said, "We'll tell whoever it is that we came down for a glass of water."

"Like heck!" Susan said, "I've not covered this thing and you're dressed up like you stepped out of The Great Gatsby. Get in the pantry!"

If someone had asked Amelia Bones where she was going to be at 3.17am on that particular morning, she would not have said hiding with her niece between the cereals. Crouched on the floor of the pantry, her knees curled up, she could see, through the crack of the doors, her brother enter the kitchen. He went over the bench, looked a little confused at the two glasses, then placed them in the sink. After that he turned and headed towards where the women were hidden. Thinking quickly, Amelia pulled her wand from her coat and cast a Disillusionment charm. She saw Susan's foot melt away as the doors were pulled open. Laurence, not noticing anything amiss, reached onto one of the shelves and pulled out a jar of cookies. Amelia's face broke out into a triumphant smile; with his night time snacking, it appeared that she wasn't the only one breaking the rules. Looking around furtively, he took a cookie and then hurried out of the room. When he had gone, Amelia waved her wand again and stepped out of the pantry.

"That little sneak," she said as she helped Susan to her feet.

"Do you think that some pointed questioning about the slowly decreasing population of cookies in this house might be warranted?" Susan asked with a grin.

"Oh yes," Amelia replied, "that would most _definitely_ be warranted."


	4. Owl

**Author's Note: **The prompt was "Owl".

Like skeleton hands reaching up to touch the face of heaven, the black silhouettes of the trees cut across the stone sky. The wind raced between them, daring to brush its cutting edges against the weathered bark. The eerie sound of nighttime echoed through the scene, a soundtrack to a midnight performance. Amelia Bones, aged six, sat on her bed, her knees curled up to her chin, her arms wrapped around them. Her grey eyes stared out the window, watching all that went on. In the middle of her mattress, her tiny body was further dwarfed in the darkness. The only colour in the room was that of her blonde hair, but even the soft gold was washed out by the shadows.

Footsteps sounded on the landing outside her room. Quietly, her door was pushed open and her brother, Edgar, older by ten years, poked his head around the corner. Upon seeing his little sister, he smiled.

"You should be asleep, Baby Bones," he whispered, coming into the room.

Amelia didn't turn away from the window.

"But it's so beautiful outside," she whispered back, "so vibrant."

"You don't even know what that word means," Edgar said fondly.

He sat down on the bed next to her, his own pair of grey eyes joining hers as audience to nature. They sat in silence, though Amelia could hear her brother's breathing, slow and measured. His thoughts were far from the room which his body inhabited, even the simple mind of a six year old could realize that much. But Amelia could not work out where he had gone, no matter how hard she tried.

There was a movement in the shadows, a tiny dot of black darting across the grey sky. Amelia jumped, her tiny hands subconsciously leaping to grip the wrist of her brother.

"What's that?" she asked.

Edgar shifted a little, looking closer.

"I think it's an owl," he said.

Amelia leant closer to the window, spreading her palms out on the wooden sill. If she squinted her eyes, she could make out the outline of the bird, its wings open out as it glided. It came to a stop in one of the trees, its shape melting into that of the branch.

"Does it have a message for us?" Amelia said, always excited about receiving owl mail.

Edgar shook his head.

"I don't think so," he replied quietly, "It looks wild."

"Then what's it doing?" his sister breathed, watching the creature with wide eyes.

Edgar took a while to answer.

"It's flying, Meles," he said, "just flying."

He brought both his feet up onto the bed, shuffling forward until he was right up by the window next to his sibling.

"That owl doesn't have to listen to wizards, to carry their mail, to do their bidding," Edgar explained, "He can just fly, when he wants, where he wants. He's free."

There was something in his voice, something Amelia couldn't understand. She frowned.

"Do you want to fly?" Amelia asked.

Edgar smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes.

"Yeah, course, Kiddo," he said, "That's what they made freedom for."

Amelia tilted her head sideways, mirroring the look of a small dog; Edgar just laughed.

"Every owl wants to fly," the young man said, "It's wired in their make-up. They can be born and bred in captivity, but deep down they want to fly. They have to fly."

"Can I fly?" Amelia asked in a tone that displayed her age.

"I know you can," Edgar grinned, "One day we'll both be able to fly."

The sky was a china blue colour, dusted lightly with dirty white clouds. The cemetery was a great expanse of grass, each blade a little too long, headstones placed at random intervals across the ground. At the edges of the field, trees stood in clusters, their dark green leaves waving at sporadic intervals as the breeze brushed against them. Amelia Bones stood still, her hands deep in the pockets of her black coat, her grey eyes scanning the area, slightly squinted as they fought against the glare of the sun. The wind curled about her ankles, willing her to walk forward. Eventually, after she had exhausted all possible reasons as to why she shouldn't, Amelia did.

Her heels dug into the soft ground as she moved; she had come straight from work and hadn't bothered to change. She paused before a set of gravestones, a small, sad smile on her face. She bent down and pulled a few weeds out of the grave, then rested a hand on the top.

"Mum," she whispered quietly in greeting, "Dad."

Her parents. So dependable, so steady and yet they had been the first to go. The first to fall. Amelia sighed and gave it one last pat, before getting to her feet and moving on.

Her intended destination was only a few graves along. It bore the name of her elder brother, Edgar. He had been one of the last casualties of the First Wizarding War. Amelia hadn't visited since then, but now, as a new war loomed, seemed a good time to stop by.

"Hi," she said awkwardly, completely aware of the fact she was talking to a rock.

She took a deep breath.

"I haven't been here in awhile," Amelia commented, "That's my fault, I guess. Things just kept getting in the way. But I'm here now."

She was here now. But she hadn't been there when he died. She hadn't talked to him in weeks; things just kept getting in the way. It had seemed that there would be so much time to say everything that needed to be said, so much more time than they had been gifted. Amelia felt tears stinging her eyes and she began to blink furiously. She hadn't meant for it to be this way.

"I didn't mean to leave you," she said, her voice hoarse, " I didn't mean to for you to go without saying goodbye."

A tear broke through, running down her cheek. Her heels had sunk into the ground, so she stepped out of them, placing a stockinged foot on the grass. Losing her balance, she tumbled down, next to the grave, and burst out crying.

"I didn't mean to leave you!" she yelled, her fingers clasping around stalks of grass, as if something was trying to pull her upwards and she needed to anchor herself to the Earth.

Her body was shaking. To her own mind, she looked pathetic; a fully grown women sitting on the ground, all alone, sobbing over a grave. She didn't know which was more so; the act of crying or the fact that she was less alone by these graves than she was in her actual life. That was not entirely true, but her remaining brother had a life of his own, one she could only partake in, watch, but never have. All she really had was a job and a reputation. But it was a good reputation; she was strong and powerful, something that people feared and admired, something that people wanted to be. Despite all that she didn't have, she had made it. Looking over at the words carved out, Amelia wiped away a tear.

"But I came back, didn't I?" she whispered, "I left you, but I came back."

She looked up at the sky and saw a bird, an owl, its tawny wings glistening in the light. It was clutching a letter in its talons and Amelia was reminded of something her brother had once told her.

"I came back," she said softly, "to show you I could fly."


	5. North

**Author's Note: **I was never gonna get through this collection without mentioning Fabian :)

The prompt was "North".

Why was it always on a cold winter's night when Amelia Bones found that her house keys had decided to stay behind at the office? She had walked all the way back to her apartment, only to realize that her keys had not been returned to her bag and they were still lying on her desk. After some pointless joggling of the door handle and some language that would've gotten her a walloping from either of her parents (and possibly her brothers), Amelia took the long the trek back to the Ministry of Magic. It had been late when she left, so it was completely dark by the time she arrived back. Most other employees had departed, so she was basically alone as she moved across the atrium. It was creepy being there after hours, like being at school on a weekend. All unnecessary lights had been switched off, exaggerating the shadows. Amelia shivered and pulled her jacket tighter across her chest; the sooner she could get home the better.

Stepping onto the lift, Amelia pressed the button for the Auror Office floor. It carried her along before coming to an abrupt stop. In her first few months of working as an Auror, that stop had always thrown her (literally and figuratively). She expected it, but each time the ending jolt seemed to come sooner than it had the time before, causing her to stumble. After a year or so, she learnt to anticipate it; after a year or so at the Auror Office, she learnt to anticipate everything. The doors dinging open and the witch got out, turning right to walk towards the rows of cubicles that housed the Ministry's finest during daylight hours. She went along, like a trained mouse through a maze, not even really thinking about the moves she was making, able to find her way even in the limited light. But something along her path caused her to stop.

Two opposite cubicles were lit up in a low, sepia glow. Stars were floating on the walls, buildings were also projected. Nighttime colours painted the surrounding area and, taking pride of place, was the Eiffel Tower, covered in golden lights. It was as if someone had placed France inside his office; Amelia could hear a violin and she was sure she smelt something like fresh bread. It then that Frank Longbottom stepped out of the shadows, where he had obviously been lurking, causing Amelia to nearly jump out of her skin.

"Christ, Frank," she breathed, steadying herself, "what the hell are you still doing here?"

"I could ask you the same question?" he said, seeming equally surprised at his colleague's appearance.

"Forgot my keys," Amelia said, "but I'm not the one playing make-believe in my office space."

"I thought you might be Alice," Frank explained sheepishly.

Amelia raised an eyebrow.

"It's Midnight in Paris," Frank said, "Alice has been really stressed out about working late, so I organized her a surprise."

Amelia's expression softened. Frank and Alice were high school sweethearts; the Office didn't normally allow co-worker relationships, but they seemed to have turned a blind eye where those two were concerned.

"I hope she likes it," Amelia said, knowing that she would.

Frank nodded, grinned and resumed his waiting position. Amelia continued onwards into the darkness, leaving the warmth of Paris behind her. It was such a beautiful display and yet she couldn't help but feel a little sad. When she finally got her keys, she would return home alone, to an empty apartment. The only men in her life were relations, work place acquaintances or dirt-bag criminals she picked up on her rounds; she got the feeling she wasn't going to be shown Paris anytime soon. It was to be expected, she guessed. Amelia had never really been very good at relationships. And, given her job, perhaps it was best to not have somebody get too close. Still, the tiny romantic hidden in her heart was crying and, at times like this, it would not shut up.

There was already somebody there when Amelia reached her cubicle. Her partner, Fabian Prewett, was leaning against the desk, his golden-red hair shining even in the near blackness. He wore a jaunty grin and, as she approached, he picked up the keys and dangled them in front of her eyes.

"Forget something, Bones?" he cooed teasingly.

Amelia made a face and snatched them off him.

"And you didn't feel the need to head home?" she asked.

"Not when there's so much lovely paperwork to be done," Fabian replied sarcastically, "Who need's sleep when you can spend your time making grammatical errors in a graphically detailed incident report?"

Amelia nodded and then said with a smirk, "been to Paris?"

"Oh yes," Fabian said, "Made the mistake of walking through Frank's little surprise; was assaulted with a bread stick."

"Well that was fairly _crummy_ of him," Amelia quipped.

Fabian looked at her and shook his head.

"Your stand-up needs work, Bones."

"Yeah, I know. That's why we keep you around, right?"

Fabian grinned and gave her a playful shove.

"You hungry?" he inquired, "We could get something from that Turkish place."

Amelia thought about it.

"Midnight in a North London bistro," she mused.

"How poetic," Fabian said flatly.

"Well it's not exactly Paris," Amelia whispered.

Fabian put his arm around her.

"Don't worry," he said, "one day I'll get you there."

Amelia stared up at him, her grey eyes meeting his blue ones.

"Would you?" she said softly.

"Yeah," Fabian replied, "Of course, you'd be paying your own way and you'd have to hold my beret whilst I chatted up hot French girls."

"Of course," Amelia laughed, only a hint of bitterness coming through.

Fabian looked at her kindly.

"Right now I can buy you a kebab," he said.

Amelia smiled.

"Sounds perfect," she said.

"Good. And, Bones?" Fabian said, leaning in closer.

"Yes?"

"Don't forget your keys this time."

Amelia whacked him on the arm and proceeded to follow him out of the office.


	6. Tickle

**Author's Note: **The prompt was "Tickle".

"I said I'd stop by after work," Fabian explained, as he got out of the car.

Amelia was still staring at him, her face wearing a look of disbelief. Fabian Prewett, her partner at the Auror Office, had kindly offered her a ride home. They had finished their cases and left the Ministry early. Amelia had been happy not to be walking and had accepted his offer gladly. Big mistake. Almost an hour after they had started the journey, she now found herself seated in his beat-up truck, looking out at his older sister's house, a ragtag building more commonly known as The Burrow. Alarm bells had started screaming in her head when she realized they were going in the complete wrong direction for her apartment. She had started screaming when they left they left the city; Fabian was known for his crazy schemes and impulsive decisions, things that Amelia generally tried to avoid.

Fabian opened up her door and, with a chauffeur-like bow, he ushered her towards the house.

Amelia groaned.

"I swear to God, Prewett," she said, "the next murder we'll be investigating is going to be yours."

"And I swear to God, Bones," the wizard retorted, "I mentioned this before we left. Now come on; they'll be so excited to see you."

Amelia swung her legs around and slipped onto the ground. As she followed Fabian along through the yard, she couldn't help but smile a little. The windows were lit up with a bright, golden glow, warmth and comfort radiating from every angle. That was how she always felt when she got to visit this place. Molly and Arthur were such a sweet couple. And with their young son, Bill, they were the perfect family.

Fabian knocked on the door, Amelia standing beside him. He shot her a smile as they waited and she softened slightly; she could never stay mad at him. The door was wrenched open and she found herself looking into the frantic face of Molly. Although she appeared somewhat panicked, the red head was clearly dressed up for something, wearing a sweet, black, polka-dot dress and a beaded shawl.

"Oh, thank goodness, Fabian," Molly breathed, "I was afraid you were going to be late."

"Am I ever late, sister dearest?" Fabian said, leaning in and giving her a kiss on the cheek.

"Hmm," Molly muttered, "It's so nice of you to come, Amelia. Bill's very excited."

Amelia raised her eyebrows as they were led inside.

"Oh yes, and we're babysitting," Fabian whispered, "I thought I had said that?"

"Must've slipped your mind," Amelia said through gritted teeth.

"It really is thoughtful of you," Molly continued as they walked into the sitting room, "I know how busy you are."

Amelia felt the warmth from the fireplace wash over her and she gave a smile.

"It's alright, Molly," she said, "Happy to be of service."

It wasn't really alright; Amelia had piles of work she had to do, many things aside from that to deal with. Still, she was here. And she would stay, at least until Molly and Arthur had departed to where ever they were going.

In the living room, Bill, an only child, ran over to the visitors, his little legs wobbling slightly as the tiny boy went.

"Fab-fab-fab-fab," he called.

Fabian grinned and hoisted him up, swinging him around in the air.

"Hello, Billy-Boy," he said, "Ready to cause some chaos?"

Bill just clapped his hands, giggling.

"And this is Bones," Fabian said, bringing him over to Amelia, who raised a hand awkwardly, unsure of how to greet a nearly three year old, "Can you say Bones?"

"Bone," Bill chirped, "Bone!"

"Close enough," Fabian said, smiling teasingly at the witch.

Molly and Arthur soon departed, out for an evening meal alone. A well deserved meal, Amelia thought; Bill hadn't stopped gurgling away in his own special language since they had arrived. He was a bundle of energy, which was putting it lightly.

"What shall we play?" Fabian asked his nephew.

Bill's eyes widened.

"Tickle," he said seriously.

"Are you sure?" his uncle asked, with equal seriousness.

Bill nodded excitedly and, a second later, Amelia was sitting on the couch, watching in bewilderment as Fabian leaped up and started to chase Bill around the room. The youngster was actually quite speedy and Amelia recognized that Fabian was employing some of the tactics her team used to corner criminals. When he managed did manage to catch the boy, Fabian picked him up and started to tickle him, gaining bursts of raucous laughter from Bill. Amelia smiled fondly, but froze when she noticed her partners eyes flick on to her.

"No," she said warningly, "_No_!"

As always, Fabian completely ignored her protests, and she found herself being pursued by both Weasley and Prewett. And, though she'd never admit it, it was actually quite fun.

Later that evening, Fabian put Bill to bed, the tiny body drooping with tiredness as his uncle led him up the stairs. Amelia had sunk back down onto the couch and watched as the pair disappeared. Alone, she finally realized how fast her heart was beating and how happy she felt. Being here made her forget about everything else that she had going on in her life; it reminded her that there were beautiful things worth fighting for amongst the horror she witnessed everyday. And, perhaps, it had something to do with the company. She always had a good time with Fabian, despite what she told people. He came back down and collapsed next to her. She just laughed.

"Sometimes I think I'm getting too old for this," Fabian yawned, stretching out his arms.

"Well," Amelia reminded him, "just imagine how Molly must feel."

"I know, I know," Fabian nodded, "God, I don't think I could ever do what she does."

Amelia stared at him, taking in every feature; his golden-red hair, his bright blue eyes, the smile of contentment, a smile that also held a little sadness.

"I think you'd make an excellent father," she whispered.

"Why, Bones?" Fabian said teasingly, "You offering?"

"No thanks," Amelia scoffed, "I can't imagine trying to live with a more childish version of you! If that's even possible."

He grinned, but did not reply, leaving his partner to just sit and contemplate; the woman who ended up making a family with Fabian Prewett was going to have her hands full. And she would be very, very lucky indeed.


	7. Over My Dead Body

**Author's Note: **The prompt was "Over my dead body". This is kind of canon with my story "Full Support", as well as filling in some missing OotP/HBP moments. I'm quite interested in the political, bureaucratic side of the Ministry.

Politics. There were days when Amelia hated it. As she exited Conference Room Number 2, located on the third floor of the Ministry of Magic building, she did her best to avoid speaking to her colleagues. Only a week ago, Cornelius Fudge had been ousted as Minister for Magic. At the time, Amelia had been less than unhappy about it, not having had a particularly close relationship with the leader. Now, however, she would've given anything to avoid the situation she was in. A new Minister had to be selected and candidates were throwing themselves at her from all sides. It was, in a way, flattering, that so many believed she had the power to sway the decision. Perhaps she did; her work at the Ministry had not left her without a certain amount of respect from her peers.

That respect had, however, not stopped the groveling and sucking up she was now being exposed to. Today alone she had received two party invites, five begging letters and a basket of mini muffins. The letters she had thrown away, the invites she had politely declined and the muffins she had distributed amongst the Auror office, a gesture that had been gladly welcomed. It wasn't the first time things like this had happened either. Amelia groaned at the thought of it; sometimes she even considered running herself, just to get people off her back, though, given the current climate, it wasn't a threat she was going to follow through with.

Amelia stepped into the lift and jabbed at one of the buttons. When the doors had closed, she leant back against the wall and let out a colossal sigh. When one got to this point, feeling like every little thing involved the energy of moving a mountain, perhaps it was time to call it quits. Her retirement was something that had played at the back of her mind for a while now, in between her thoughts of running for Minister and killing all candidates for Minister. People would possibly say she was too young, a compliment she wouldn't mind receiving, though perhaps it was true; in the wizarding world, with the seemingly ridiculous life spans, retirement definitely wasn't a normal concern at her age. Still, the idea of not having to deal with any of this was very appealing to Amelia at the current time.

The lift doors dinged open again and a man, well-built with long, dirty-blonde hair, stepped into the confined space. Amelia straightened up a little, but didn't bother to look anymore enthused about life.

"Long day, I take it," Yaxley said with a small smile.

Amelia nodded as the doors slid shut and the lift continued on its way.

"I have had it up to here with support submissions," she sighed, "So if you've come to make a presentation don't bother."

She had been joking, but the slightly guilty look on Yaxley's face make her groan.

"You've got to be kidding me!" she said.

"It's not for me," Yaxley said defensively, "I'm here on behalf of somebody else."

"Well you're too late," Amelia interrupted, "I've already backed my horse."

Yaxley looked surprised.

"Really?" he asked, "Who?"

"Rufus Scrimgeour," Amelia replied, "But don't go spreading it around."

She had wanted to keep her decision quiet, as she wasn't entirely sure about it herself. But Scrimgeour, her successor as head of the Auror Office, seemed to be the only option in her mind. He wanted the job, that much he had said himself, but he was also decisive, clever and more than well equipped strategically; he had the skill set to lead a country during times like these. Though she had her doubts, when the panel met to make the final decision, that was the way Amelia would be voting. Yaxley, on the other hand, didn't look so sure.

"Scrimgeour?" he said incredulously, "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"Why wouldn't it be?" Amelia inquired, her patience running a little short.

Yaxley shrugged.

"He's not particularly personable. And he has a tendency to be somewhat brutal."

"He takes no nonsense and suffers no fools," Amelia said bluntly, "Quite frankly, I perceive that to be a good thing."

"His manner does leave one questioning his actual affection for the people," Yaxley continued.

Amelia narrowed her eyes.

"I'm not sure I like where this conversation is headed," she said quietly.

"I meant no offense," Yaxley said quickly.

"Of course you did," Amelia retorted.

She gave a small laugh, shaking her head.

"Not that it really matters," she said, "We haven't ceased to be a democracy simply because of recent events; you're entitled to your own opinion. Which is what, by the way?"

"Pius Thicknesse."

This time Amelia was surprised.

"Thicknesse?" she questioned.

"He has an impeccable track record," Yaxley said.

"Yes, yes, I've heard," Amelia said with a wave of her hand, "I'm merely surprised that you're involved in his campaign. I was under the impression that you hadn't had a lot to do with him over the years."

Once again Yaxley shrugged.

"I haven't, not really. But the time has come to choose teams and I've weighed up my options."

"Of course," Amelia smiled, stepping out of the lift as it came to a halt, "Your interests come first."

Yaxley smiled back and followed her, no sign of resentment towards her comment.

"Of course," he said, "I've been playing this game too long not to know it's the only way to survive. I daresay it factored in your decision."

"Perhaps," Amelia said noncommittally, a hint of teasing in her voice "Perhaps a little."

Yaxley laughed.

"A little?" he exclaimed, "Everyone knows that old lion would do anything for you. Hell, just about every man in this building would. How you've convinced them all they're in love I'll never know. And it's true, so don't deny it."

"I wasn't going to," Amelia said, one corner of her mouth turning upwards.

The pair started walking down the corridor, the witch ahead by a few paces, going in the direction of her office.

"But you should definitely consider Thicknesse," Yaxley said.

"I'll consider it," Amelia promised.

Yaxley nodded, satisfied, but then said, "you're not going to change your mind, are you?"

Amelia gave him a sympathetic look.

"Probably not."

"Oh well," Yaxley sighed, shoving his hands in his pocket, "I tried. The argument will never be settled, no one will be chosen and we'll all have to live in a state of anarchy. I guess we could always elect Dolores Umbridge."

"Over my dead body!" Amelia exclaimed.

Yaxley smiled at that, but there was something in his eyes, as if the statement made him just a bit sad. He was a confusing individual, Amelia concluded; she could never tell where she stood with him, or define what exactly their relationship was. Back when they were much younger, they'd been out a few times but nothing had come of it. Still, something about his wit and intelligence attracted her to him. He wasn't physically beautiful, not by a long shot, but there was something interesting in the lines of his face and shades of his eyes. Something interesting that kept her guessing. But there was also something else, something more, something that stopped her every time; she just never could tell with him.

"What are you thinking?" she asked quietly.

Yaxley turned his head slightly, gazing at her with melancholy eyes.

"I'm thinking," he said slowly, "that I wish I'd taken you to dinner more times than I did."

Amelia wasn't entirely sure how to take that.

"Maybe you still can," she said kindly, "I was only joking about the dead body thing."

"I know," Yaxley replied, "but it's more apt than perhaps you realize."

"Meaning?" Amelia inquired curiously.

"Meaning," he explained, "that things have changed. People are going to have to reassess their priorities and-"

He paused.

"-and not everyone is going to come out the other side."

Amelia was quite honestly a little shocked by this. She hadn't thought Yaxley would be that nervous about things to come.

"I didn't realize this was worrying you so much," she said.

"I don't know," Yaxley said, "it's just I don't want it to be how it was last time, when you couldn't tell who was on your side, who was playing for what team."

Amelia nodded; she understood that feeling all too well, everybody did.

"Well don't worry about me," she said, "I've backed my horse, remember, I'm not changing."

"No," Yaxley whispered, "I knew you wouldn't."

He inclined his head in a goodbye, turned around and walked back the way he had come. Amelia followed him with her grey eyes, watching as he got back on the lift. Then she turned and went towards her office, getting on with her day, not completely sure what had just happened.


	8. Broomstick

**Author's Note: **This one's a bit short, but hopefully still enjoyable :) And there's a date mentioned; forgive me, I have no idea if it's accurate.The prompt was "Broomstick".

Lifts really were interesting places sometimes. Not everyday, not on the days when they took forever to move anywhere or just wouldn't open their doors, despite the fact they were blatantly on your floor. But sometimes, when those doors finally do open, you find the most interesting on the other side. Amelia Bones was waiting for a lift to take her down to the Atrium. It was lunch time at the Ministry of Magic and she had decided that it was a good idea to go out and get some fresh air. There were times, she had to admit, when she missed being a field agent; it was a lot safer in her office, but the walls did have a tendency to close in sometimes.

Her fingers were tapping against her side as she waited, playing out the notes to some song she'd forgotten the name of. It was strange, she reflected, the things one did remember and the things one didn't. As the lift arrived, and the doors opened, Amelia, for a second, thought she saw someone she did remember, someone from a long time ago. Her breath stopped in her throat as she saw the golden-red hair and the bright blue eyes. But she soon realized her mistake, though the person was one who was known to her.

"Charlie Weasley," Amelia said, as she stepped onto the lift.

The young man turned his head and smiled politely.

"Yes, Ma'am," he nodded, "Do we know each other?"

Amelia shook her head.

"No, no," she said, "I'm just an old connection from a time gone by. Amelia Bones."

She held out her hand. Charlie ran his eyes up and down her and then accepted.

"I know the name," he admitted jovially, "though I can't say I know the connection."

"It's of no importance," Amelia said.

She surveyed the wizard; he had not changed much since she had last seen him, though he did look more grown up.

"Charlie Weasley," she said again, "You know, the last time I saw you was at a Hogwarts Quidditch final, diving off a broomstick."

Charlie grinned. "Quidditch fan?" he asked.

"Of course," Amelia replied, "And I was very excited because you were supposedly going to be joining the Lancashire team for the next season. That's my team."

"Yeah, well, my brother was threatening to kill me," Charlie joked, "He supports the Chudley Canons."

"I couldn't be more sorry."

"And I had to go off chasing dragons," Charlie added.

Amelia raised an eyebrow.

"I'd always wondered what happened."

"Really?" Charlie said, chuffed, "The basic storyline is that I got to spend a month in Romania before my training began, working at a Dragon Sanctuary and, well, I didn't want to leave. I'm only over here now for the Triwizard Tournament."

"Ah, yes, I'd heard there was going to be some fiery new students at Hogwarts," Amelia smiled, "I suppose you've been filling out the paperwork."

"My least favourite part of the job," Charlie said.

The lift stopped at the Atrium and both witch and wizard stepped out onto the black floor. Amelia was about to say goodbye, when Charlie opened his mouth, a look of dawning understanding on his face.

"I know where I've seen you before," he said slowly.

Surprised, Amelia signaled for him to continue.

"In a photo album, at home," Charlie explained, "I can't remember exactly what for. A class or something. It's with my uncle, Fabian."

A small, sad smile broke out on Amelia's face, her eyes glistening.

"There you go," she said, "Auror Training Program, class of '68."

"You knew him well?" Charlie asked.

"He was my partner," Amelia answered.

Her partner in more ways than she cared to explain to an almost stranger in the entrance place of the establishment that eventually helped to claim his life.

"It was nice to meet you, Ms Bones," Charlie said.

"Like wise, Mr Weasley," Amelia said, shaking his hand again, "like wise."

As the red head walked away, Amelia wondered why she hadn't noticed the resemblance he bore to his uncle before. Same messy hair, same joking aura, similar bright blue eyes. Just similar. No eyes on the planet would ever come close to Fabian's. And Charlie had remembered her from a photograph, taken many, many years ago, during a time that even Amelia couldn't recall clearly. It was funny, what people remembered and what they didn't. She hadn't expected him to remember her from his christening or from his first birthday party, but the photo was definitely not where she would've put her money. And so, Amelia Bones went off to lunch, thinking about what a small world it was and reflecting on how lifts could be extremely interesting places. Sometimes.


End file.
